The Ties that Bind
by PrairieLily
Summary: A series of plot bunnies tied into the timeline of the Eurstrade Universe, with Sherlolly as its other primary coupling, and Mycroft/Lady Smallwood, and Rosie/EU character Will Holmes. Chapters are self-contained and vary in theme and main characters. Characters either do not belong to me or were inspired by characters who do not belong to me, no infringement intended!
1. The Secret of a Happy Marriage

_I have all sorts of baby plot bunnies that come around now and then, none of them more than a few paragraphs worth of something or other. As most of the little cotton-bums tie in to the Eurstrade universe which includes Sherlolly as its other primary coupling, and spans a period of 25 years or so. I thought I'd post them under one title, "The Ties that Bind," and because I love a good double-meaning phrase, the theme of family will be consistent throughout, while at the same time perhaps explaining minor things that may have been tossed into a longer Eurstrade Universe story. The Ties that Bind these stories together sometimes don't require dozens of paragraphs spanning multiple chapters, hence the collection._

 _These chapters will be self-contained drabbles within the same universe, and I will mention in prologue notes like the one below what you're reading right now what the genre is, if there are pairings, and where it sits in the Eurstrade timeline. They will be stand-alones but all will connect to existing stories for consistency. Some of them may dabble in a minor mystery, some will be family/friendship oriented, more than likely many will be humour themed, and some will probably be a bit angsty. Some may be romance focused on Eurus and Greg, or Sherlock and Molly, perhaps Will and Rosie, maybe even Mycroft and Lady Smallwood... or any combination of these couples, but at times those relationships will merely be in the background of a drabble that has a non-romantic theme. Hopefully I can keep this going for awhile and the two or three readers who seem to dig Eurstrade enjoy it! I appear to have a REALLY tiny audience for this, but it's still an audience and I appreciate everyone who reviews and favourites them, SO MUCH!_

* * *

 ** _The Secret of a Happy Marriage_**

 _ **Genre:** Family, with minor humour_

 _ **Pairings:** Mycroft and Lady Smallwood; Sherlock and Molly; Eurus and Greg; Rosie and Will. All pairings are background only._

 _ **Main characters:** Mycroft and Sherlock_

 _ **Eurstrade tie-ins:** Completion_

* * *

Mycroft Holmes had perfected the art of keeping secrets, much to the current irritation of his little brother, Sherlock.

The topic of Mycroft's clandestine marriage to Lady Alicia Smallwood, a revelation that had only "happened" to transpire on the eve of his nephew Will's marriage to Rosie Watson, had somehow come up in in the otherwise casual conversation. Once again, Sherlock was baffled and more than a little bit chafed at being left out of the loop.

"I hid our sister for thirty-five years, Sherlock. Why would you think that hiding a spouse for merely twenty would be so difficult?" Mycroft explained to Sherlock at the baby shower Molly and Eurus had organized for Rosie and Will.

"Well, surely someone else had to know about this surreptitious marriage," Sherlock said, mildly annoyed. Having finally had his emotional barriers obliterated and gotten together with Molly Hooper, Sherlock would have loved to have actually witnessed Mycroft give in to that which John had correctly said would complete a person, and he was frankly just a little bit resentful that his big brother had opted to keep the biggest news of his life from him.

"Of course someone did, brother mine," Mycroft replied, almost matter of factly. "I needed a best man, and we happened to have an ideal candidate in our circle of family and close friends. Police officers, especially ones with advanced rank, know best how to maintain confidentiality," he said, a little too casually, and nodding over towards their brother-in-law, Greg Lestrade.

Sherlock's eyes narrowed when comprehension struck. "GREG? Greg knew? LESTRADE was your best man? Are you bloody serious?! Oh you…" Sherlock had huffed, wishing he could be more upset than he actually was, "both of you are sneaky old gits! So who stood up for Lady Smallwood then?"

Mycroft cleared his throat softly, suppressing a cheeky smile. With the corners of his mouth twitching ever so slightly he nodded back towards where Greg and Eurus stood, talking to Will.

Sherlock's eyes narrowed again. "Eurus? EURUS was Alicia's... are you bloody serious?! Our SISTER knew as well?"

"Well, Eurus also kept _herself_ secret for 35 years. Clearly she knows how to keep big news on the mum. Alicia and I opted to marry on one of the Thursdays that she was in London. Besides, I wanted to do it before logic and reason overtook my desire to marry the woman I loved. Old habits, brother mine, do not die easily. Sentiment and emotion were yet in their infancy for me in those days."

When Sherlock had fired one final look of annoyance at his big brother, after a few moments of silent absorption, Mycroft had simply smiled serenely in that aggravating way he still had, lifting his tea cup up to take a sip.

Old habits, indeed.


	2. The Perils of Reminsicing

_**The Perils of Reminiscing**_

 _ **Genre:**_ _Friendship, Humour_

 _ **Pairings:**_ _None_

 _ **Main characters:**_ _Greg, John, Sherlock_

 _ **Eurstrade tie-ins:**_ _The Case of the Missing Pooh; How They Deal with Problem Bears_

* * *

Greg Lestrade was jonesing for turkey.

Roast turkey, to be exact. With stuffing chock full of savoury vegetables and poultry seasoning, mashed potatoes, steamed vegetables, turkey gravy, homemade dinner rolls with real butter… even the pumpkin pie that North Americans seemed to love and Brits didn't seem to have much use for… in other words, everything he had been treated to on his trip to Churchill, Manitoba, in the Canadian sub-arctic.

"When I was in Churchill, it happened to be right on Canadian Thanksgiving weekend," Greg said. "The NCO in charge of the local RCMP detachment found out I was a copper, so after a full tour of their detachment and a ridealong in the cruiser, he invited me to join him and his family for their Thanksgiving celebration. God, what a bloody marvelous feast that was," he reminisced, almost dreamily, while meeting John and Sherlock at their favourite pub.

"It sounds fascinating," John said, looking down at the roast beef sandwich he had ordered. Suddenly, it didn't seem so special anymore. "Actually," he said, "it does sound bloody marvelous," he said, sadly. He pushed his plate away and sighed.

"Um, are you going to eat that?" Sherlock asked, eyeing up the abandoned sandwich. He had been too engrossed in a case that day to remember to eat, and Greg's talk of full course holiday meals was making his belly gurgle. John simply grunted, pushing the plate in front of Sherlock.

"Ah, I can still smell that dressing. Their entire house smelled absolutely divine. And pumpkin pie is highly underrated in the UK. They served it with real whipped cream too. Pure bloody bliss." Greg stared down at his own order of fish and chips, sighing sadly. It had seemed like a good idea when he ordered it. Now, it just seemed… sorely lacking somehow.

"Um… are you going to…" Sherlock began. Greg gave him a sarcastic look.

"Go ahead, my appetite seems to have headed across the pond anyway," Greg said, pushing his plate over towards Sherlock.

"You know," John said suddenly, "How hard could it be to cook up a feast like that? I mean really, it's just a roasted bird. The rest is just… extras."

And with that fateful suggestion, an incident would soon come to be known as "Sherlock Flipped the Bird". It was alternatively known as, "It Was John's Idea", and most popularly, "Shut the Hell Up, Greg."

It would go down in the annals of history in the kitchen at 221B Baker Street – the mere mention of which would raise Mrs. Hudson's blood pressure at the memory of what her boys had done to her kitchen, throw Molly Hooper into a fit of helpless giggling at the sight of Sherlock, John, and Greg in frilly pink and mauve aprons (courtesy of Mrs. Hudson), and make three grown men shudder from the memory of flames, a bird seemingly incapable of cooking through, dinner rolls you could play cricket with, and a dessert that would emphasize the reason why pumpkin pie had never caught on much in the UK.

When next they met at the pub, after the smoke had figuratively – and literally – cleared, it was generally agreed upon that Greg would keep his happy memories of his Canadian holiday firmly close to his chest.

Greg had been more than happy to comply.


	3. Those Enchanting Northern Lights

_**Those Enchanting Northern Lights**_

 ** _Genre:_** _Romance (SHAMELESS FLUFF)_

 ** _Pairings:_** _Greg and Eurus_

 ** _Main characters:_** _Greg and Eurus_

 ** _Eurstrade tie-ins:_** _The Case of the Missing Pooh; How They Deal with Problem Bears; A Trio of Reminders; The Ties that Bind Chapter 2 (The Perils of Reminiscence)_

* * *

 _"_ Have you thought at all about where we might go for our honeymoon?"

Greg Lestrade sat curled up on his couch, his fiancée, Eurus Holmes, nestled cozily against him. They had just spent the day painting and installing baseboards in her new music room, and now they sat relaxing in front of the blazing fireplace. The appetites they had dredged up with the labours of the day had been thoroughly sated by the pot pie that Mrs. Hudson had sent home with Eurus the day before, and they were now as content and pleased with themselves as two cats lounging in a sunbeam after having feasted on a stolen chunk of salmon steak.

Eurus thought about this query for a few moments.

She had honestly been so pre-occupied with trying to adjust to the whirlwind changes in her life that a honeymoon destination was about three steps beyond where she was even able to think – which at this point, was barely past their impending wedding day.

"I haven't, actually darling," she admitted. "Have you any suggestions?"

Greg gazed into the fireplace, mesmerized, letting his thoughts wander. He hadn't really thought much about it either, admittedly. He brought his hand up to cup Eurus's shoulder, absently stroking her skin with his thumb.

"Do you remember me talking about Canada a few years back?" he finally asked.

A memory of the three specific tourist seasons in Churchill, Manitoba, in the Canadian sub-arctic had suddenly re-surfaced. Something about the open spaces and the clean, clear air, when he was accustomed to the cramped and lung-stifling atmosphere of London, had always appealed to him.

"I believe so, yes. Rosie's stuffed polar bear came from there, didn't it? Oh… and the inspiration for that absolutely dreadful attempt at preparing a turkey din…"

Greg silenced her by planting his mouth firmly on her neck in just that particular spot and making her gasp in delighted, breathless surprise.

"We don't speak of that, love. Mrs. Hudson still hasn't forgiven us," he murmured into her ear. Only the words themselves betrayed the fact that it wasn't actually an attempt at seduction.

"So then… tell me, darling," Eurus said, giggling and nestling herself even closer to him.

"Well… I don't imagine a tundra buggy would hold much romantic appeal, so October is out. But there are also the arctic flowers in full bloom in the summertime, and the beluga whales are in Hudson Bay at the same time. The flowers are gorgeous and whale watching can hold a certain amount of charm." Something about her neck suddenly held its own charm, so he kissed it again lazily while he waited patiently for a response.

When it seemed there was none immediately forthcoming, he continued. "Of course, there's always the season in March. The Aurora Borealis are at their brightest and most intense. The Japanese believe it's good luck to conceive a baby under the Northern Lights… so it's decidedly more romantic."

Eurus laughed out loud at this fanciful suggestion. "Gregory, we are beyond having babies, you know that!"

"Well probably," Greg conceded. "But we can always have fun pretending we aren't."

"Well then, when you put it _that_ way," Eurus said, shifting herself to turn around to face him, a sparkle of pure mischief shining in her bright blue eyes.

"A March honeymoon it is, then."


	4. Music to the Greer

_**Music to the Greer**_

 ** _Genre:_** _Family_

 ** _Pairings:_** _Mycroft and Lady Smallwood; Sherlock and Molly; Eurus and Greg; Rosie and Will. All pairings are background only._

 ** _Main characters:_** _John, Greg, Michaela Greer_

 ** _Eurstrade tie-ins:_** _The Astounding Michaela Greer_

* * *

John Watson was at his wits end. His granddaughter, Michaela Greer Holmes, at six months old, had decided that this would be a perfect night to test her grandfather's ability to appease an infant who was well and truly pissed off.

There was no particular reason for it, something was simply making her mad. Very, _very_ mad. John mentally checked off everything he could think of.

Fed, bounced, and burped. Check.

Fresh, dry nappy. Check.

Clothing loose and not restricting. Check.

Signs of a new tooth coming through investigated and ruled out. Check.

Fever, rash, bug bite, other minor skin irritations and possible health issues also investigated, also ruled out. Check.

John went through his extensive list meticulously, struggling to think clearly and calmly. Rosie had had her moments at this age, but never as bad as this.

Mrs. Hudson was away at bridge club. Sherlock, Eurus, and Mycoft were gone on a sibling getaway. Molly had left for the weekend to visit a spa with Sally Donovan at Alicia's invitation. And the two people who would probably have known best what to do – Michaela Greer's parents, Rosie and Will – had been sent away by John and Greg - the only two adults left who were willing to stick around closer to home - for a weekend break from the 24/7 beck and call of one rather spirited six month old girl.

"What on earth is it you want, little love?" John grimaced as Michaela seemed to find a new decibel to scream at.

"Alright, that's it. We're going for a drive. Your parents are away and it's your Uncle Greg's and my fault. I can own up to that, let's see if he can too, shall we?"

When they had arrived at the Lestrade cottage, the sound of the car's engine having done virtually nothing to appease Michaela's anger, John knew he and Greg were in for a true challenge. If the soft steady vibration and muted hum of an engine didn't do the trick, he would be relying on Greg to think of something. John was fresh out of ideas.

He'd even attempted to sing to his granddaughter. Much like Rosie had been, Michaela was fickle. There were times when John's clear, smooth voice singing a sweet tune to her would calm her down, and there were times when all it did was piss her off even more. When that happened, Sherlock's rumbling baritone might be the thing that worked. If that failed as well, and none of the ladies at 221B could soothe her, it was off to Greg's flat they went, in the hopes that Greg's voice – in a category somewhere in between Sherlock's baritone and John's tenor, would be the happy middle ground. If that failed as well, they would set her down with deliberate care, crack open three blessedly soothing bottles of stout, and wait for her to tire herself into slumber.

"Oh, dear, Greer," Greg said, calling her as was his habit by her middle name – chosen as a tribute to him - as he opened the door. John had the briefest fleeting of relief as Michaela stopped crying long enough to look at Greg. It seemed an excruciatingly drawn out moment as he held his breath. Then, almost deliberately – diabolically even - she started up again.

"I can't appease her, I've tried everything. You're my last resort," he said, holding her out for Greg to take.

Greg tried bouncing her, tried rubbing her back, rocking her, he even tried murmuring directly into her ear, then finally singing to her. Nothing was working. Shaking his head, he gestured for John to follow him to the small office that Eurus and Molly had converted to a nursery for weekend visits. "I'm assuming you tried singing to her as well?" he said. John simply nodded wearily.

"Maybe you need a little extra accompaniment this time. Sherlock is away and you don't play anything. Do you remember what Rosie's favourite song was?" Greg smiled warmly, his eyes lit up with an idea. "I learned it on my guitar when Greer was maybe two months old. Eurus thought of it, she pointed out that sometimes a violin is too harsh and a cello is too loud. So she had me try a little song on the guitar. It seemed to be a good compromise and it actually works."

John nodded, smiling. "Of course, 'Rainbow Connection' I believe it was. Didn't always work but it was the one with the highest success rate, seemed to work best when I sang it though. Wasn't easy being green," he chuckled softly. He reached out to take the baby back as Greg handed her over, watching as his granddaughter's great uncle left briefly to retrieve his guitar from the next room.

When he had returned, John had done a final check of anything that may be annoying her, again ruling everything out.

"Right, now," Greg said, sitting himself down. He positioned his fingers and looked up at John, who nodded after a brief mental run through of the words. Greg started the soft picking of the opening notes, John's voice joining in at just the right moment.

About halfway through, when John had sung the words, "… what's so amazing that keeps us stargazing," Michaela started to settle, and by the time he had reached the end, and Greg had strummed the closing notes, the unhappy girl had miraculously, blessedly, drifted off to sleep.

"I'm afraid to move," John whispered softly, smiling warmly with relief and gratitude. Greg rose from his chair as quietly as he could, setting his guitar down on the spare stand they kept in the nursery.

"Fair enough," Greg whispered in reply. "I'll be right back."

John grinned. He and Greg had this routine down, and it was time for some pacifiers of their own. He gazed at the doorway in anticipation of their reward for a job well done, and was not disappointed when Greg returned, an open bottle of ale in each hand.

"To Kermit," Greg said, raising the bottle.

John gazed down at his slumbering granddaughter, smiling at her adoringly. Looking up, he raised his own bottle.

"To the musical stylings of Watson and Lestrade," he said.


	5. Acer Acerpori

**_Acer Acerpori_**

 _ **Genre:** Family_

 _ **Pairings:** None mentioned, but pre-Eurus/Greg pairing_

 _ **Main characters:** Rosie, Sherlock, Greg, John, Eurus_

 _ **Eurstrade tie-ins:** The Baker Street Girls; A Trio of Reminders_

* * *

 _"Acer Acerpori" is the motto of the Royal Canadian Army Cadets, a Canadian national youth program sponsored by the Canadian Forces and the civilian Army Cadet League of Canada. Under the authority of the National Defence Act the program is administered by the Canadian Forces and funded through the Department of National Defence. Translated from latin, "Acer Acerpori" means, "as the maple, so the sapling." I felt that this was an appropriate title for this chapter, detailing young Rosie Watson's revelation to her three mentors – dad John, and uncles Sherlock and Greg, of her plan to someday become a police officer with New Scotland Yard._

* * *

"Well, it was obvious, wasn't it?" Rosie Watson, aged 12, pointed out, matter of factly.

Sherlock Holmes sat looking at his Goddaughter, an expression somewhere between pride and amazement gracing his chiseled features.

"Indeed, Rosie. Quite obvious. But how did you come to that conclusion?" He smiled warmly at her and sat back, crossing his arms expectantly. Rosie was clever, and Rosie was observant, and Sherlock could not have been more proud of her budding detective skills.

"Well, it was simple, really," she said, reaching out to pick up her glass of lemonade. "The suspect bore all the earmarks of being right-handed, yet the crime had been committed by someone who was clearly _left-handed_. That was the only evidence that contradicted everything else." Rosie grinned at her Uncle, a look of satisfaction crossing her face.

Sherlock nodded. "Excellent… And what is it that I've always told you, and your dad, and Uncle Greg?"

Rosie giggled softly. Uncle's lessons could get SOOO repetitive. But, just one more time, she thought she'd best humour him. Especially since she was about to drop something on all of them.

"Besides 'don't be ridiculous, it's never twins'?" she giggled, deepening her voice to imitate Sherlock, and drawing a low chuckle from her Godfather. Rosie reverted to a more serious tone. "You tell us that when the impossible has been eliminated, whatever is left, no matter how improbable, must be the answer. The strongest suspect, the one whom all other evidence solidly points towards, appears to be right-handed, yet the crime was clearly committed by someone using their left hand, and appearing to be genuinely left-handed. With all other pieces of the puzzle no matter how large or small pointing towards the right-handed suspect, then only one conclusion can remain."

"Yes…?" Sherlock replied, expectantly.

"Though a bit rare, he's ambidextrous. Obvious, really." She reached out to take a ginger nut from the plate in front of them. She bit into it with a satisfied, definitive crunch.

"Papa?" Rosie suddenly said, in between bites of her biscuit and using a nickname for Sherlock that she had used briefly as a younger child, when "Uncle" seemed inadequate but "Godfather" was confusing. Sherlock cocked his head at her curiously, then glanced over towards the stairs as he heard the front door open. Both Sherlock and Rosie smiled as they watched Greg and Eurus come up the stairs.

"How was the cinema?" Sherlock asked lightly. He watched as Greg helped Eurus with her coat, then place a hand lightly on her back to follow her to the table. Eurus turned to smile warmly at him, before turning to answer Sherlock.

"Predictable. Cheesy. Far-fetched," Eurus replied, with a glint in her eyes.

"She loved every second of it," Greg laughed. Eurus grinned at him, then towards Sherlock and Rosie in confirmation.

"So, Rosie… what was it you were about to say?" Sherlock said, turning back to the young girl.

Rosie paused a moment, then remembered. "Oh, yes Papa. I just wanted to mention… well, I've been thinking a lot lately about what I want to do when I've finished growing up, and…"

Sherlock and Greg shared a grin. Here they went again, the ambitions of a fickle 12 year old girl. They seemed to change frequently enough. However odd or questionable this one would be, they didn't think worry was warranted just yet.

Eurus noticed the look shared between her big brother and her best friend, and smiled. Men could be such silly creatures, thinking they knew everything. She turned towards Rosie, smiling expectantly.

"And… well I thought I'd tell you before I mentioned it to dad and Aunt Molly and Mrs. Hudson… I've decided what I want to be when I grow up." Rosie paused, waiting for the adults to finish sharing their looks with each other.

"I want to be a detective," she started saying.

Sherlock sighed with relief. Was _that_ all?

Greg nodded, this was hardly a surprise.

Eurus smiled, knowing there was far more to this than simply solving mysteries.

"But not just _any_ sort of detective. I want to be a detective like Uncle Greg. When I grow up I want to attend Peel Centre and become a proper copper."

Sherlock blinked, Greg cleared his throat, Eurus sat back and smiled.

"Yes, well… there's plenty of time yet for all of that," Greg said, suddenly. He wasn't sure he wanted to see his honourary niece choose such a personally demanding, and at times perilous profession, especially not when becoming a civilian detective might afford her the opportunity to obtain a firearms permit to actually carry a gun for her own protection when she was on the job. Greg had found himself in plenty enough dangerous situations over the years. He'd been on the receiving end of a slashing knife many times, only a stab-proof vest protecting him, and had even been shot at a few times over the years.

"I've made up my mind, Uncle, I mean _really_ made it up this time, you know there's nothing changing it when I do that. Papa might be clever, and dad keeps his cleverness grounded, but you're wise, and just a really good copper. They are all equally important traits." Rosie sat back in her chair, sipping her lemonade and gazing at Greg.

"You realize your dad's gonna kill me, yeah?" Greg said to her. Sherlock simply nodded. Both men were, for the most part, firmly convinced that this whimsy would soon fade and Rosie would make yet another new declaration of her life's ambition, but there was always the chance that she really may not change her mind on this one. Sherlock wondered when Rosie had planned to mention this new ambition to John, Molly, and Mrs. Hudson yet. Well, time would tell. Chances were they weren't too worried about it just yet either.

But Eurus knew better. It was so obvious, she was surprised that neither Sherlock nor Greg had picked up on it.

Rosie hadn't said she wanted to attend _Hendon_ , which was the old nickname that every Met officer used to refer to the training college, and a moniker that Greg himself used when talking about his training days. Rosie had referred to it as Peel Centre, the proper modern name for it. Rosamund Watson was dead serious about wanting to join New Scotland Yard.

Years later, when they were attending her graduation and had gathered after the formal ceremonies, Eurus, her visit from Sherrinford actually officially authorized this time, would simply smile at the whole lot of them, and then turn her proud gaze to newly ranked Police Constable Rosie Watson. "I tried to tell them you were serious, but they wouldn't listen," Eurus had said to her niece. "Men can be so stubborn," she winked.

Rosie looked at the three mentors standing with her, unable to hide her gratitude and love for the three men in her warm gaze and beaming smile.

"Acer Acerpori," John said softly. Greg, still in his full dress uniform, looked him curiously and smiled expectantly, while Sherlock took on a reflective look and nodded, correctly deducing that John had picked up the Latin motto in Afghanistan, while serving beside Canadian troops - many of whom had quite likely been cadets themselves once, finding a life path with mentors to guide them and inspire them as they developed and grew towards adulthood.

"As the maple, so the sapling," Sherlock translated. "Most appropriate, I believe."


	6. Mrs Hudson's Mulligan

_**Mrs. Hudson's Mulligan**_

 ** _Genre:_** _Family, with minor humour_

 ** _Pairings:_** _Eurus and Greg, Molly and Sherlock, Rosie and Will_

 ** _Main characters:_** _Ensemble_

 ** _Eurstrade tie-ins:_** _The Ties that Bind "The Perils of Reminiscing_ _"_ _;_ _The Astounding Michaela Greer_

* * *

The general consensus between Baker Street – both 221B and 221A, where Mrs. Hudson made her landlady headquarters – the Lestrade Cottage, and the flat that Rosie and Will called home, was that the blame never could be fairly squarely placed on any of them.

Yes, Will had conceded. His dad had flipped the bird. His mother, Molly, had agreed without mercy, while his dad, Sherlock, had simply sunken lower into his chair and pretended to retreat into his mind palace. The only one not fooled had been his granddaughter, Michaela Greer, who had harassed him on his lap and made his mouth quiver in poorly hidden amusement.

Sherlock could fool some of the people some of the time, but he could fool Michaela Greer NONE of the time.

Yes, Rosie had said, it was her dad's idea. John defended himself by blaming Greg, putting into solid practice the theory that shit ran downhill. Greg found himself with little defence against that particular cliché.

Eurus admitted that perhaps it could have been avoided altogether if her husband hadn't started reminiscing on an empty belly and tantalizing memories of Canadian Thanksgivings gone-by in northern Manitoba.

Greg, now feeling more than a little bit ganged up on, conceded that yeah, maybe he should have kept those memories on the mum, but to be fair it had been a long day, and he had been weakened by a good ale and good company. By that measure, he squarely blamed the barmaid.

As the barmaid wasn't present to defend herself, the matter came, or so they believed, to a close.

Nobody had factored in Mrs. Hudson, however, and her dodgy past, or the possibility that she may have known a thing or two about North American traditions…

Not to mention her devotion to her boys – all four of them – and her Baker Street Girls.

Mrs. Hudson had personally experienced one or two of these North American Thanksgiving meals, and though hers had been in November, in Florida, she knew that on the whole, the Canadians didn't do theirs that much differently in October, in terms of menu.

And so, the October that the trip to Churchill had fallen through – something that Greg and Eurus tried to do every 2 or 3 years – Mrs. Hudson decided it was high time she showed everyone what she, Greg, and Eurus had known from delectable experience, and everyone else knew only by sheer legend.

The call went out around midday on the second Sunday of October.

Mrs. Hudson was in dire need, and everyone was summoned.

Sherlock, Molly, and John had been spending the day with Rosie and Will. It was a crisp early fall day, and there was much to be done before Rosie could return to work after her maternity leave.

Greg, knowing the standard operating procedures from his decades on the force, had arrived to assist his niece to prepare to put her uniform back on and "get the hell on with it," as she had said.

Eurus took it as an excuse to spoil Greer while everyone else did the hard work. Someone had to babysit, after all. Eurus wasn't the cleverest of them all for no good reason.

At some point, late in the day, Sherlock, John, Greg, and Will received the same text message.

"Need help. Come ASAP!"

As they went through the door at 221B, Greg, having had first hand experience, smelled it first.

"Holy bollocks… that's bloody pumpkin pie. And sage and onion and… dear God what has that wonderful woman done…?!"

Sherlock and John shared a look, then studied Greg – who at this point was full-on gone into bliss.

"That's roasted turkey," Molly said, matter of factly. Eurus, having travelled with her husband every few years to visit the long-time friends he had made in Churchill, recognized the aromas immediately.

"I am going to venture a guess that Mrs. Hudson has prepared a mulligan. Darling," she said, turning to Greg, "I believe our Thanksgiving is about to be celebrated after all." Greg turned to her, the dreamy expression still in his dark brown eyes. He was speechless, so he settled on a leisurely kiss by way of agreement.

"Is this seriously what you do in October over there?" John asked, his eyes having taken on their own dreamy expression. "Dear God, no wonder you keep going back."

When the gang had entered 221 Baker Street, making their way into the shared space between Mrs. Hudson's flat and 221B, they were greeted by a table set out with Mrs. Hudson's best china, and the finest meal they would probably experience for at least another two and a half months.

From that day forward, it was agreed upon that each year, around the second weekend of October, The Boys and Girls of Baker Street would gather together to enjoy a tradition brought over the pond, to give thanks to and for each other, for their blessings of the year, for friends, and for family.

As long as Sherlock, John, and Greg stayed the hell away from the kitchen.


	7. Getting it Right the First Time

_**Getting It Right the First Time**_

 ** _Genre:_** _Family_

 ** _Pairings:_** _Greg and Eurus, Sherlock and Molly, both background_

 ** _Main characters:_** _Rosie, Greg_

* * *

"What's got you thinking, Dozy," Greg said, as he passed a drink to his niece.

Rosie Holmes sat quietly, and clearly bothered by something, on Greg and Eurus's patio, recently refurbished by Greg. It was a perfect spot to have tea, or a glass of wine, or whatever one wished, in full view of Eurus Lestrade's country garden. It had been Greg's summer project, waiting on his wife's flowers to start their emergence. He had all the time in the world – well at least, for that month anyway – and had wanted to harmonize his efforts with hers, and somehow, he had managed to succeed. This year, at least.

Rosie seemed hesitant, yet needing to talk. She reached out and accepted the bottle of ale from her Uncle. She sat for a few moments, her thumbnail fussing with the label.

"I know what I want to do, Uncle Greg… but I don't," she finally said. "I've wanted to be a detective for how long now?"

Greg smiled at Rosie with the remembrance. "You were twelve when you broke the news to me, and your Auntie Eurus and Uncle Sherlock." He paused with a reflective sigh and the breath of a laugh. "I was fine with it until you informed us you wanted to be a proper copper like me. You scared the shit out of me Dozy," he admitted. He paused, bringing up the memory. "As usual, Eurus was right."

Rosie smiled at the memory herself. "I remember that day," she said. "You tried to put it off but Auntie Eurus was nothing but supportive. She always has been, Uncle. So have you."

"I've tried," Greg admitted. "Watching you earn that warrant card has been a source of pride for me, I'll admit it. I always thought you'd be a detective like your Uncle and dad, but I never dreamed you'd want to follow my footsteps as well."

Rosie glanced over at her uncle, then paused. "I was glad you were still a Yarder when I was in my rookie year." She smiled reflectively. "It gave me the chance to have you see me in action. I wanted approval think."

Rosie said nothing after that, only looked up at her Uncle and smiled. If anyone understood what Greg was saying, it was Rosie.

"I knew you'd be more than okay, my approval was… what it was." He said. "I've had an interesting personal life," Greg continued. "Not one I'd like to see you repeat, any road. Marriage and a career with the Yard can be a challenge to balance. I failed miserably Dozy. But I was on the husband side of it too, and kids never managed to factor in to the equation."

"I don't know quite what to do," she admitted sadly. "Will is so supportive, and he's such a wonderful dad to Michaela, but I feel like I'm… I don't know. Failing him and our daughter. But I still want to be a detective. Will has his career and it takes time away from us but I feel like it's nothing compared to my own time away... I don't want to be an absentee parent. I want our daughter to know she's loved, and I want Will to know that I am his wife and…" she trailed off.

Greg nodded. He understood, mostly. "Everything was complicated the moment you had Greer," he said. "But she is your world. Greer and Will. I wish I could advise you my Dozy Rosie, but I can't. Only you know how to proceed here."

Rosie said nothing, sipping at her ale and mussing with the label with her fingernails.

"I can tell you that you have a huge support base where I had none. But you also have a child where I had none. You have me and your Auntie Eurus. You have your dad, and you have Sherlock and Molly and most of all you have Will. Greer will always know she's loved and that she always has you, and Will is busy enough with his own job."

"So you think… I could have both?" Rosie looked up at her uncle, carefully questioning.

Greg chuckled warmly. "Of course you can. There will be times when Will will be too busy to be a dad, and you'll be too busy to be a mum. Oh sweetie, it won't be all the time and Greer will always know she has you both. In between there are a lot of retired old farts to look after her," he said with an amused grin. "No worries Dozy Rosie."

Rosie took a deep breath, letting her Uncle Greg's words absorb.

"You can even study for the Sergeant's exam," he hinted. "I'll remind you that Eurus loves babies, though she's apt to spoil them a bit."

"Oh, and you're not," Rosie finally giggled.

"Great Uncle's prerogative. Anyway she's my one and only namesake. Don't expect me to hold back." Greg only flicked an eyebrow as he lifted his glass of scotch.

"Am I your do-over, Uncle?" Rosie finally asked. Her spirit had lightened and her heart was feeling more settled. "Your chance to have a family and a career in perfect harmony?"

Greg smiled. "Nothing is ever perfect Rosie. But you do the best you can at the time. One day at a time. Your best has a better chance than mine ever did, is all. Maybe not my do-over."

Rosie looked up, suddenly understanding what Greg Lestrade was getting at.

"I'll never need one, will I?" she said suddenly, her throat starting to tighten and her eyes starting to itch.

"No, you won't," he said. "You're better than a do-over, lass. You're going to get it right the first time."


End file.
